A Novel Way to Save Journalism: Buy a Newspaper

Because it's going to take me five years of schooling to figure out how to do it, and these journalists don't have that much time. Save that copy editor from Nebraska!

(I have no idea why the formatting of this video is off nor do I have any idea how to fix it, so you're just going to have to suck it up. It's worth watching anyway.)

Dear Washington Post Ombudsman, I Love You

Somebody at a newspaper has finally figured out that firing copy editors is probably a bad idea.

This from the Washington Post ombudsman (a job that I may or may not lust after):

Copy editors are the unsung heroes of newsrooms. Unknown to the public, and often underappreciated by their colleagues, they're the last line of defense against a correction or, worse, a libel suit.

They're skeptics who revel in the arcane. They know the difference between median and mean, and can speak knowledgeably about topics from Methuselah to the Milky Way. They write headlines, design some pages, check facts and make sure assertions are supported. They spend entire careers working horrible night-shift hours.

On a Scale of One to Awkward

I'm recovering from a fabulous weekend, but some awkward moments to tide you over until I have anything intellectual, funny, or shoe-related to say:

• Let's say, hypothetically, you're standing in Key Food with just an avocado in your basket (i.e., you have barely even started grocery shopping). And a girl you sort of—sort of!—know pulls you over and asks if she can talk to you. Then, she tells you, while you're standing in front of the cashiers at Key Food: "I was trying to set up these people, but then the girl was sort of busy, but I feel OK about that because the truth is she's probably not pretty enough for him, but I feel sort of bad because I was setting him up and all. So, I was thinking, maybe for you ..."

• Or let's say you're walking into your building, on the phone, and a guy you dated very recently happens to be at the moment moving into said building. You do the right thing and say hi. He looks as if he has something to tell you, so you tell your friend on the phone to hold on for a minute, and the boy tells you, "I think I have a guy for you, he seemed OK with the whole moving to L.A. thing, but actually he's dating someone ..."

• Being asked if you're Jewish three times over the course of 24 hours on the streets of Manhattan.

• Passing sketchy Chassidish guys on the Brooklyn Bridge at 2 a.m. who not so subtly put their hands up to cover their faces or deliberately look down when your friend tries to subtly take their picture.

Sigh.

You know what I want? I want the newspaper's "imminent death" to stop being the punch line of jokes, because it's not funny.

Deep Thoughts: The It's Finally Sunny Edition

• If I ever teach a creative writing class, which seems unlikely but you never know, I will give my students an assignment to take Abba's repertoire and write a show with a better—by which I mean even remotely cohesive—plot than Mamma Mia. That said, the Mamma Mia soundtrack does make for an excellent dance/karaoke party at 3 a.m.
• Media Mail is going to be my savior, as it will get my books to my new home without costing a fortune. I'm not really sure how I'll be able to afford to ship all my shoes there, though.
• A copy desk shout-out at Slate's The Big Money! (It's not every day that copy editors get mentioned in print—or the Web equivalent—so this is very exciting.)
• Overheard [in a frum setting]: "So these more modern girls come to the program. I don't mean modern; I mean growing."
• If you're a politician, I don't care whether or not you have had an affair and cheated on your wife. It's a very, very awful thing to do, but I just plain don't want to know. (I know, I know, Michael Jackson's death has totally eclipsed all the other events of last week, so you're reading this and asking what the heck I am talking about.)
• Goodbyes are hard.

Guilt Tripping

[Amid my 4-year-old brother's chants of "Don't move! Don't move!"]

 

7-year-old brother: Can I move to California with you?

Me: Well, no. Because I'm going to be in school, and who would help you with your homework and take you to school and get you dressed...

7-year-old brother: You.

Me: I don't think that's a good idea. But remember how we bought that webcam today so that you can still see me and talk to me, right? And that will be so cool.

7-year-old brother: No. It's not the same. I want to go with you.

My mother [to the 7-year-old]: But don't you think I'd miss you if you move to California?

7-year-old brother: You can use the webcam.

The Washington Heights Dating Scene

In a T-shirt.

 

I offer as proof that of the four girls who once lived in my apartment at the same time, three of us had dated the same guy. And there were multiple other guys whom two of us had dated. In fact, on a recent first date, a guy mentioned that he had dated a former roommate of mine. And then went on to tell me about that date. You can buy the shirt here. I'm sure it will look just as classy with a three-quarter-sleeve shirt underneath.  

For Your Caffeinated Pleasure

A friend sent this to me, and it is truly amazing. And by amazing I mean disturbing in that it, um, mixes Muppets, violence, and coffee. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm going to get some coffee now.

Happily Ever After

I saw this picture from this Fallen Princesses project, and though I know this is Snow White, I was reminded of these lines from Anne Sexton's "Cinderella" poem:

Cinderella and the prince

lived, they say, happily ever after,

like two dolls in a museum case

never bothered by diapers or dust,

never arguing over the timing of an egg,

never telling the same story twice,

never getting a middle-aged spread,

their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.

Regular Bobbsey Twins.

That story.

Deep Thoughts: The I'm a Mac Edition

• I have a beautiful new Mac. It is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever owned. (Now if only I can get all my files off my very-dead old laptop, my computer life would be perfect.) Also, it is cut from one solid piece of aluminum, much like the menorah in the Mishkan was cut from one solid piece of gold, except, you know, not as miraculous or anything like that.

• In which my decision to go back to school is justified by the amazing nap opportunities I will have in the library: "[I[n my experience, the high temple of napping is the university library. It is a place so good for sleep that it comes close to justifying the whole pursuit of higher education."

• My life goal, at one point, was to make enough money to afford a mode of transportation that was not Greyhound. I haven't really gotten there yet (or ever?), though I currently aim for Bolt Bus. But I do tend to agree with the assertion that "Not only are these train or plane types spending more money than is strictly necessary—a sure sign of moral inferiority—but they have failed to learn the supremely useful, difficult-to-master art of distinguishing among the baser things in life." So, yeah, I have that.

• Also, this woman is cruel. Absolutely evil. But I do sympathize with her Coke problem: " 'I never saw a prettier shade of red than a can of Coca-Cola,' she says wistfully, then adds with a smirk: " 'I have a little Coke problem, and it kills me to say it.' " Though maybe Diet Coke—my weakness—doesn't count as junk food, so she wouldn't snatch it away from her children as she prevents them from having any fun at all?

• And new recession trend: Spending a ridiculous amount on your wedding to make it look like you didn't spend too much.

I Have Perfected the First Date

Or, rather, I have perfected the surrounding environs:

 

1. Coffee pre-game. Because everything is better when you're caffeinated. (One could argue that sleep is an exception to that rule, but, well, I wouldn't be that one.)
2. Date.
3. Ice cream after-party with other friends who have just returned from first dates. (We considered asking a random girl who none of us knew who we saw getting dropped off if she wanted to join, but we decided that might be a bit weird.)